X3  Power Corrupts
by Philip S
Summary: After the atrocity that was X3: The Last Stand, I've decided to write my own version of how the X Men movie franchise should have concluded. Part 7: Welcome to the Revolution
1. How Charles Met Jean

**X-Men 3: Power Corrupts**

By Philip S.

**Author's Note**: After the atrocity that was X-Men 3: Last Stand, I decided to write my own version of how the brilliant first two parts of the X-Men Movie Franchise should have continued. I will strive to write a story that gets by without opening up 20 different plot threads and then letting them fizzle and die, without killing or discarding all the main characters built up in the first two movies, and without resorting to endless action scenes to disguise the complete lack of plot and character development. Oh, and while this first chapter might have many similarities with the beginning of the movie, you can bet that things will change significantly as we progress.

**Summary**: Jean Grey is dead. The Mutant population is growing. The public fear is on the rise. And presidential elections are due, with the Mutant 'Problem' one of the primary topics that polarises the nation.

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**Part 1: How Charles Met Jean**

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Twenty-five years ago:

"You do realize you will not be able to visit each and every mutant personally, right?"

Charles Xavier looked over at Eric Lehnsherr, his best friend and comrade-in-arms, as they walked toward the home of the Grey family. Charles had long ago learned to take his friend's sometimes strange sense of humour and sarcasm in stride.

"Of course not," he agreed. "With more and more mutants being born every day, that is a given. But this one is special. Very special."

They were let inside by a quiet and subdued pair of parents. Dr. John Grey and his wife Elaine had, quite literally, gone through hell these past few weeks. Conventional methods of dealing with their family crisis had failed them, so they grew desperate. Through a number of contacts they reached the two experts on the growing mutant question.

"Can you help her?" Dr. Grey asked, looking tired and desperate. "Is there anything you can do for her?"

"We will certainly do our best," Charles said, Eric nodding in agreement. "Where is Jean?"

The two men walked up onto the first floor of the family house. The door to the child's room was closed, but not locked. Inside the deceptively normal-looking room was a single bed, currently occupied. A red-headed girl, about six years old, was lying still. Her breathing was shallow, barely there, and her pale skin stood in stark contrast to her flaming-red hair.

"How long has she been like this?" Charles asked, walking closer to the girl.

"Ever since the accident, "Dr. Grey said, sighing deeply. "Six months now."

Charles nodded, sitting down besides the bed. Erik took up position at his flank, looking at the two parents.

"Charles works better when we're alone," he told them. "Please?"

The two parents hesitated a moment, but then left and pulled the door close behind them. What else was there to do but trust these two strangers? All other options had long ago been exhausted. If these two couldn't help there was nothing left for them to do but pray.

When they were gone Erik briefly leaned forward, his hand hovering a hair's breath over the girl's body as he reached out with his mutant senses.

"You are right about her being special," Erik said a moment later, withdrawing his trembling hand. "Her very presence disrupts the electromagnetic fields in this house. There is no telling how powerful she might become."

"Which is why we must help her," Charles agreed. "Power on that level will need a strong and healthy mind in control, otherwise the consequences could be disastrous."

Without further ado Charles Xavier activated his own mutant talents. He was a telepath of the highest order and even as his body remained sitting beside the bed, his mind reached out to the girl in the bed, entering the world of her psyche.

For six months now Jean Grey had been in a coma. He read the file on how it began. Her best friend was killed right before her eyes. The various psychiatrists her parents had consulted agreed that the shock of seeing death at so young an age was what drove her mind into a coma. After but a few seconds of contact, though, Charles knew better.

"The girl is a telepath," he muttered, keeping Erik apprised of his progress. "Powerful, but latent for now. She has no conscious control over her talent."

Memories took shape before him, the last conscious recollections burned into this slumbering mind. The street outside the house. A girl, blonde, playing with Jean. The two of them laughing together. The sun was shining. A perfect day.

Then suddenly there was a screeching in the air, a demon's howl as a monster of blue steel roared down the road directly toward the blonde girl. Jean screamed a warning, but it is already too late. The car hit the girl and her small body was thrown through the air. It landed in the Grey's front garden with a sickening thud and did not move.

Jean hurried to her friend's side, screaming for her. There was no response. The girl wasn't moving, wasn't breathing. Jean touched her, but there was no heartbeat. Charles felt her desperation, her urgent need to somehow help her friend, to keep her here.

Then Charles saw what happened to Jean.

"She reached out," he whispered, horrified. "Her friend was dying right in front of her and she unconsciously reached out with her telepathy and linked their minds. She entered her friend's thoughts just as she died."

Erik was not a telepath, but even he could understand what kind of horrific experience this must have been for young Jean. To link with another mind just as it died? Sucked away into the darkness of death, along for the ride? He was actually surprised that her mind wasn't completely shattered by the strain of this experience.

"It is a testament to her strength that she survived at all," Charles mumbled, mirroring Erik's thoughts. "She has retreated deep into her own self to escape the horror she has seen."

"Can you reach her, Charles?" Erik asked.

"Just one way to find out, isn't there?"

Charles concentrated, focusing all his power and strength of will on the faint spark he saw before his mind's eye. This was dangerous, he knew. To immerse himself so deeply into another's mind, a mind that already hovered on the edge of fading into nothingness, could leave him a vegetable as well. He was more than willing to take this risk, though. That was the kind of man he was.

Deeper and deeper he probed, his centre of conscience shooting through the layers of the slumbering mind before him at the speed of thought. There! The faintest of lights. Jean's consciousness, buried so very deep, huddled into the darkest, most remote corner of her mind she could find. A child hiding from the terrors of death. No child should have experienced what she did, he thought. He must help her.

"Jean?" he sent out his thoughts. "Can you hear me?"

"Go away," a faint voice answered him. "Leave me alone!"

"Your parents are worried about you, child," he kept sending. "Please come back with me."

"NO," she screamed, the force of her thoughts tearing at his very being. Her power, raw and untrained as it was, came at him in white-hot waves of pain. Back in the real world Erik started as he saw a faint trickle of blood coming from Charles' nose.

"I know that something terrible happened to you, Jean," Charles tried to soothe her. "But hiding here in the darkness is not the answer."

"Can't go back," she whimpered, her mental voice laced with pure, mind-numbing terror. "The blackness... it was so... so empty. I don't want to go into the emptiness."

"You won't," Charles assured her. "I will guide you through it and back out into the light. I promise you."

"You promise?" she asked, the first stirring of trust in her voice. "I won't be alone anymore?"

"You'll never be alone again, child. I will always be with you to help. Please trust me!"

It took an eternity, yet less than a second. Two minds briefly merged as Charles opened his very being to the frightened child to prove that she could trust him. Everything he was he laid open before her and vice versa.

"Okay," she finally said. "You promise I won't be alone?"

"Yes, child. I promise!"

Somewhere on the mental plane Jean took Charles' hand and allowed him to guide her out of the darkness and back into the light of the conscious world. The man she had come to trust in that short yet infinite moment hesitated but for a second as they touched, his thoughts briefly darkening, before they went on and out into the light.

In a moment Jean would wake and she would be okay again. Her parents would rejoice and shower Charles and Erik with gratitude. Later they would agree for Jean to visit Charles' school for gifted youngsters, so that she could learn to better control her growing abilities.

All that was still in the future, though. Right now, immersed in the girl's mind, their mental hands touching, Charles had a heartbeat to see something that scared him right down to the core of his being:

His mind interpreted it as a giant image of fire, a bird of flame with wings so large they could encircle the entire world. It slept inside Jean's mind, the flames barely more than a glimmer at this moment, but with the potential to grow into a ferocious firestorm that could devour all that stood in its path. His mind recoiled, primal fear leaking into his thoughts, as he faced a power so potentially vast and all-encompassing that it could bring the world to a halt. A power manifest in this little girl he has just saved.

Charles Xavier was a man with a mission. As such he had taken it upon himself to make the tough decisions if necessary. To do things that might be considered evil by some in order to further his goal of peaceful coexistence between man and mutant. Right now he stood at the brink of such a terrible choice.

He made it. That was the kind of man he was. And as he brought Jean out of her coma and into the loving arms of her overjoyed parents, he allowed himself a smile. For he had no idea what kind of terror he unleashed this day.

End Part 1


	2. State of the Union

**Part 2: State of the Union**

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"With the presidential elections just a few short months away, the one question that polarizes the nation more than any other is, of course, the mutant issue. With mutant birth rates climbing every year and more and more mutants coming out and publicly displaying their powers, the nation is split almost right down the middle over the question of what, if anything, should be done about the growing number of mutants among us.

"The two presidential candidates, Republican nominee Congressman Graydon Greed, and Democratic nominee Governor Donald Duke, have both made it pretty clear where they stand regarding this important issue.

"Congressman Creed is a firm advocate of the proposed Mutant Registration Act, which would make it mandatory for every mutant to register with a Mutant Oversight Committee the moment his or her mutations manifests. Failure to do so would carry a severe penalty, including incarceration.

"Governor Duke, on the other hand, has taken a firm stand against the MRA, calling it a direct violation of a citizen's right to privacy and the first step towards a mutant witch hunt. While the governor's direct and no-nonsense approach to the issue has given him a firm backing among the liberal and democratic elements of the nation, the conservative factions have almost unilaterally denounced him and his campaign.

"Yesterday the addition of a new member to the governor's campaign staff has polarized the nation even more. Dr. Henry McCoy, the renowned geneticist who outed himself as a mutant more than three years ago, has joined the campaign as senior counsel to the candidate on the mutant issue. Rumours that Dr. McCoy would hold a high government office, possibly Secretary of State, in the event of a Duke victory, have so far been met with no comment.

"Five days from now the two candidates will meet for the first and only presidential debate of this campaign. While many issues are on the agenda, viewers can expect the mutant question to soak up a large amount of screen time as polls across the nation have made it clear that this is the number one issue the American public is concerned about.

"We have just been informed that the Duke campaign is holding a press conference at their campaign headquarters in Michigan and Dr. Henry McCoy is available for questions. We are now going live to Michigan."

The blue-furred mutant Henry McCoy dwarfed the two men standing next to him. His intimidating appearance was disarmed somewhat by the grey suit he wore, as well as the reading glasses perched on his nose. It made the man who looked like a cross between a panther and a gorilla appear almost human.

The horde of press standing outside the glass doors of the Duke campaign headquarters didn't frighten him, nor did the many cameras or the knowledge that millions of people were watching right now. Being one of the first mutants to take a public stand, he was used to attention of all sorts.

Still, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous.

Stepping up to the podium, he ignored the questions fired at him for the moment and shuffled the papers in front of him to calm his nerves.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please," he began. "I want to make a short statement and then I will take some minutes to answer your questions."

The reporters grew quiet as he cleared his throat to begin.

"When Governor Duke approached me to join his campaign staff I was at the same time honoured and somewhat hesitant. The so-called mutant issue has polarized this nation more than any other issue since Dr. Martin Luther King's Civil Rights Movement. And rightfully so, I might add.

"Mutants, as a group, are being regarded with suspicion, fear, and outright hatred because of a simple accident of birth. Fear of the unknown has once again taken ugly root in the hearts of men and it is up to us to prove that we have grown, that we will not allow petty fears to dictate the future of our country.

"Many of those in favour of Mutant Registration have time and again cited the example of Magneto, the mutant terrorist, to argue their case. Unfortunately Mutant Registration will do nothing to stop characters such as Magneto, who consider themselves above the law. He, just like criminals who are not mutants, must be brought to justice. But those mutants who have broken no laws, who just want to live their lives in peace, must not be subjected to this discrimination and debasement that is registration.

"I know that the addition of a known mutant such as myself to Governor Duke's campaign staff will have repercussions, both positive and negative. For a time I considered rejecting the governor's offer for fear of the negative impact. But I have come to realize that we can't take a stand without putting the issue squarely in the limelight."

Putting his papers aside, he spread his massive arms and displayed his animal paws.

"I am Henry McCoy. I am 34 years old. I have a medical degree and am considered one of the leading experts in the field of human genetics. I am also a mutant. When I was sixteen I started growing blue fur all over my body. I grew claws. I am stronger and faster than most humans. I am also long-sighted, addicted to coffee, and love reading Shakespeare.

"I am a human being. And to quote a very famous man who took a stand for what he believed in, I ask you not to judge me by the colour of my fur, but by the content of my character. I have joined the Duke campaign to remind people that mutants are among us. We are not an outside force that invades your lives. We are not enemy aggressors and we will not, as some anti-mutant propagandists have asked us to, 'go home'. We are home. Our home is here. We are your brothers and sisters, your sons and daughters. Right now a child born in America has a one in a thousand chance of being born a mutant. That rate will only increase. We need to face that fact, not run away from it.

"There are no easy solutions. Tolerance will need time to grow and there will be people, both mutant and baseline human, who will do their utmost to sabotage that tolerance. We must not listen to them, though. We must not allow ourselves to judge everyone by the poor actions of a few. We must not give in to our base fears and hatreds. We must prove to ourselves that we are better than that, that we are worthy to inherit the future, that we are worthy of the trust put in us by our children, that we can build a better world for them."

Taking a sip of water from the glass on the podium, he looked at the assembled press.

"I will now answer your questions."

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"Henry is putting on a pretty good show," Ororo Munroe said, looking at the TV screen where the mutant in question was doing his best to answer the numerous questions thrown at him by the press.

Sitting in his wheelchair beside her, Professor Charles Francis Xavier also watched the news as one of his former students made a stand in the most difficult of arenas.

"Henry was the perfect choice for this job," Charles said. "Despite his appearance, he may just be the most human of us all."

Turning away from the screen, Charles and Ororo walked down the corridor towards the Professor's office.

"Do you think Duke has a chance of winning?" the white-haired woman asked her mentor.

Charles shrugged. "Divining the future is sadly not among my talents. Does Duke have a chance? Yes. A good one? Probably not. Creed's message is by far the easier and more seductive one. It gives people the illusion of safety from what they fear.

"But I dare say this is not merely about getting a mutant-friendly president into the White House, Ororo. The more important matter is igniting a public debate, to turn what has so far been an emotional matter into one of rationality. Even if Creed wins, even if the MRA is made into law, Duke and his people will make sure that we are not just 'the mutant menace' anymore. Of that I am positive."

Ororo nodded, seeing the Professor's reasoning.

"Not to dissuade from Henry's brilliant performance, Professor, but have you spoken to Scott lately?"

Charles' face darkened as he thought of Scott Summers, the young boy he had taken in who had grown into a man to be proud of. A man who was still broken over what had happened last year at Alkali Lake.

"He keeps to himself, I'm afraid," Charles said. "Jean's death... it eats away at him, I know. He loved her so very much. Still does."

"He is destroying himself, Professor," Ororo told him. "And his absence is hurting us, both as a teaching staff and as a team. Kurt is doing brilliantly and Kitty, Rogue, Peter, and Bobby are almost ready to join the team, but none of them can replace him."

She didn't add that no one could replace Jean Grey, either. By some unspoken agreement her name was seldom mentioned, most certainly never around Scott. The death of the heroic woman who had sacrificed her life to save them all last year was an open wound that refused to heal properly.

"I am not sure what we can do," Charles admitted. "I have pondered the idea of bringing in a psychiatrist, both for Scott and the rest of the team, but finding one capable of dealing with the... special circumstances of our group is not easy."

"Can't you...," Ororo began, but thought better of it. What was the Professor to do? Use his telepathic powers to erase Scott's grief? Take away the memory of Jean's death? Twist his mind until he no longer thought of her? Even if Charles had been the man to abuse his powers that way, Ororo was not the kind of woman to ever ask it of him.

"How is Logan?" Charles asked, changing the topic.

"Better than Scott," Ororo said. "I guess he is more used to dealing with grief and pain. Not that I envy him that experience. He's dealing. In his own way."

Charles managed a smile. "Wrecked the Danger Room again?"

"Thoroughly," Ororo smiled back. "I wish we could get Scott to blast the room apart. Maybe that would help."

The two shared a laugh, but it was tinged with frustration and a feeling of helplessness.

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_Scott! Scott, can you hear me?_

Scott Summers, the mutant known as Cyclops, tossed and turned in his sleep as nightmares assaulted his slumbering mind. Images of Alkali Lake, a repeating loop of memories warped by guilt, grief, and anger.

He saw himself, mind-controlled by Stryker's pet mutant, assaulting the woman he loved. Saw how she fought back against him with a strength she had only recently discovered in herself. Saw how their powers overloaded, causing fatal damage to the dam above them.

His fault! If he had only been strong enough. But he wasn't. So he attacked her, their battle damaged the dam, and she was forced to sacrifice her life to save them all from the result of his weakness. His fault! All of it!

_Scott! Scott, please! It's so dark!_

Suddenly the memories changed. He saw Alkali Lake, the silvery surface of the water beginning to boil. Something rose from the depths, something beautiful and terrifying. A flaming image, almost like a huge bird of prey.

_SCOTT! HELP ME!_

"JEAN!" Scott Summers sat up in his bed, screaming the name of his dead love. He was soaked with sweat and shivering violently. But for the first time in months the slightest ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

"She's alive," he murmured over and over again. "She's alive!"

**End Part 2**


	3. Hope

**Part 3: Hope**

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"You are certain it was Jean?" the Professor asked, looking at his student.

Scott had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep and he was exhausted beyond measure. But Charles could see nothing of the quiet desperation and crushing depression that had afflicted his surrogate son these last few months. There was a glimmer of hope to be seen behind his ruby-red glasses and his words were firm.

"I felt her, professor. I would recognize that feeling anywhere. It was Jean."

Charles sighed, rubbing his bald head. There was so much conviction in his voice and he wanted to believe it so badly, but...

"Scott, son. I hate to crush your hopes, but I have strained my powers to the utmost to detect any sign of Jean. There was nothing. And you... you are not a telepath. How could..."

"I don't need to be a telepath," Scott interrupted him. "Years ago, when Jean and I first fell in love, she used her powers to create a psychic bond between us. From that moment on I could hear her voice whenever she sent to me and vice versa, no matter the distance. Stryker's pet mutant suppressed it so I couldn't warn her, but apart from that we've always been able to contact the other. And she is contacting me now, asking for my help."

Charles thought on what he had just heard. The creation of a permanent psychic bond... it was not unheard of, but it required a level of psychic power Jean hadn't previously displayed. He knew her powers had grown ever since she'd been forced to use Cerebro, had felt it first-hand when she had used him to convey her final message to Scott at Alkali Lake, but to think that she displayed that much power so early...

Better than any other person alive he knew how potentially powerful Jean had been... or was, actually, if Scott was right. He had seen her potential when she had been but a child, had watched it grow under his careful tutelage. Looking at it objectively, it was certainly possible. And somehow that realisation frightened him quite a bit.

"Scott, let's say you are right. If Jean is really alive... then she has spent the better part of a year suspended by her own powers, held in a stasis induced by her own mind. Her powers were growing exponentially even before that."

"What are you saying?" Scott asked, getting impatient.

"Just that we need to be careful, Scott. If Jean is alive, then there is no telling her state of mind. We need to approach this rationally and with extreme caution."

Scott was about to protest, but then his training kicked in. The X-Men's primary mission was to help and, if necessary, to stop mutants who couldn't or wouldn't control their superhuman abilities. The thought that Jean might now be one of them... it boggled the mind.

But he had seen the level of power she had displayed at Alkali Lake, had seen how she had stopped his powerful optic blasts with a wave of her hand. Well, not quite that easily, but she should have been vaporised. He flinched. Not one of his favourite memories. If Stryker hadn't been dead already...

"Very well, Professor. How do you want to handle this?"

Charles nodded at him, proud of his level of control. He was glad to see that the old Scott was back among them at last, not the broken wreck of a man he had been these last few months.

"Go to Alkali Lake, Scott. Take Logan and Ororo with you."

"Logan?" Scott exploded. "Why would I...?"

"Scott," Charles interrupted him, motioning for him to sit back down. After a moment he did, forcing himself to be calm. "I know you and Logan have never quite seen eye to eye, especially when it comes to Jean. But if Jean is alive, then she needs to be helped by the people she trusts the most. And that is you, Ororo, and, like it or not, Logan."

"Why not you?" Scott asked, a little calmer but still upset. "Jean trusts you with her life."

The Professor's face darkened for a moment, his memories returning to a day a quarter century past. Something he'd done back then, something he was not proud of. Something that he suspected just might come back to haunt him now.

"Jean might react negatively to the presence of another powerful telepath," he said, the lie slipping easily across his lips. "It's better if I am not there for the initial encounter. If necessary I will be there telepathically."

Transmitting his thoughts across half the country was not something he could do at leisure, but it was possible. He'd need to use Cerebro. Ever since the incident with Stryker he'd been somewhat uneasy whenever he used the machine that boosted his mutant powers. Still, he'd do what needed to be done.

"Very well," Scott finally said, rising from his seat. "I'll tell the others and prep the jet."

"Scott," the Professor said, making him pause. Looking at his mentor, Scott saw the hope shining in his eyes. "Bring her home, son."

Scott smiled at him. "I will."

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Logan was running as fast as his legs would carry him, putting on his black uniform as he went. The telepathic message he had received from the Professor... could it really be true? Was Jean alive? God, he hoped it was so. He had prayed for it every night since Alkali Lake.

When he had first met the pretty redhead he had felt an instant attraction. How could he not have? She'd been a looker, that much was certain, and she hadn't been intimidated by him. Not much anyway. He flinched as he remembered how he had first woken up in her care and held his claws to her throat in confusion. Not one of his finer moments.

After getting to know her that attraction had bloomed into love. A love she did not return, he knew that by now. Oh, she was attracted to him as well, she had never denied that, but her heart belonged to Scott. She had told him so before Alkali Lake and he had understood. He hadn't liked it, but understood. One couldn't choose where one's heart went.

These last few months he had walked around as if in a daze, the loss of Jean a crushing weight on his soul. He had seen what it had done to Scott, too. So when he arrived in the underground hangar that held the X-Men's jet and saw Scott in uniform, standing tall and looking eager, he couldn't help but smile a little.

It was true, he figured. Scott wouldn't look like that unless it was true.

"We going?" Logan asked as he climbed up the entrance ramp.

"Yes," Scott simply answered. For a moment the two men locked eyes. Scott's were hard to see through his red-tinted glasses, but Logan had learned to read the man despite this impediment. Yes, this was the old Scott Summers. And even though he obviously didn't like having Logan along, he went with it because it was the logical choice for the job at hand. That was Scott in a nutshell.

Logan didn't like him much, either, but he respected him.

"Then let's go, dick," he said, grinning.

"Sure thing, ugly."

Ororo stormed past them, the chocolate-skinned weather goddess brimming with impatience. The two men might both be in love with Jean, but to her Jean was like a sister and best friend all rolled into one. Losing her had been as bad for her as for them and the prospect of getting her back had her rolling ahead at full steam.

"If you are done with the male posturing, can we get this bird in the air?"

"Yes, ma'am," Logan said teasingly, taking his seat. It was a miracle how the mere hope that Jean might still be alive picked up their spirits.

Flight prep took but another minute and then the sleek modified SR-71 Blackbird rose on its VTOL jets and easily slid through the access shaft that was hidden beneath the school's basketball court. Rising into the air, Storm keyed the engines and the plane thundered forward.

Logan closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to wander free. Three hours to Alkali Lake. Three hours until... what? Jean was alive, somehow he didn't doubt that. Scott sure didn't. But they knew nothing beyond that. What kind of state was she in? How had she survived this long? Would she still be the woman they remembered?

Well, just one way to find out.

"This is going to be a long flight," he muttered, unconsciously unsheathing his claws as his high spirits plummeted slightly with the thought of what might be ahead.

**End Part 3**


	4. The Meek Shall Not Inherit

**Part 4: The Meek Shall Not Inherit**

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"Mutants have proven themselves to be dangerous," Congressman Graydon Creed said, his dark eyes sparkling with intensity. "Senator Duke keeps preaching about the rights of the individual, but what about our right as a people to feel safe in our own country? How safe are we when people who have the power to incinerate you with a glance can walk around unsupervised?

"Contrary to what some of my opponents might have you believe, this is not about discrimination. This is not about fear of the unknown. It certainly isn't about putting people into camps and no, I do not have a Swastika tattooed on my forehead.

"America is built on the belief that every citizen has a right to be free and a right to protect himself. That is why every American has the right to own a gun, but it is also why we make it mandatory for Americans to register their guns. We need to know which citizens are walking around with weapons. Should the same not apply to citizens who ARE weapons? Isn't a man with the power to crush solid objects with a thought as dangerous as a man carrying a '44 Magnum under his jacket? Shouldn't the authorities know about this man's power?

"Our world is changing, whether we like it or not. In a perfect world we wouldn't need Mutant Registration. In a perfect world we wouldn't need guns, either, and we certainly wouldn't need policemen. This is not a perfect world, though. We need to make sure that the authorities have both the knowledge and the means to protect our people, whether it is from criminals with guns or criminals with laser vision. That is what my campaign is about."

The large screen TV was turned off and the sound of boos and quite a few swear words filled the ensuing silence. The woman known to most of those present as Callisto looked over the small crowd that had assembled here tonight. They were mutants, all of them, a makeshift community that had grown in New Jersey with her as the unofficial leader. And all of them were quite nervous about where the future might lead.

"Please calm down everyone," she said, motioning for them to be silent. After a few seconds they were. "Okay, we have all seen what Creed wants. If he becomes president, odds are we'll all be forced to sport big red M's on our clothing so all those nice, normal people know when the big bad mutants are around. All our names will be in some government database so when the time comes to round us all up they'll know where to go."

"Don't you think you're being overly pessimistic, Callisto?" one of the mutants asked. She recognised him as Rusty Collins, a fire starter and, in her opinion, a hopeless optimist.

"Pessimistic, Rusty? Maybe. But I'd rather be paranoid than rounded up."

"Duke has been able to gather quite a bit of support lately," another mutant, Theresa Rourke, said. "He's calling for volunteers from the mutant community to aid his campaign. We should sign up."

There were some murmurs of consent from the crowd, but before Callisto could say anything the doors to the room suddenly flew open and three figures strode inside. The man walking in the middle was instantly recognised by everyone present.

Erik Lehnsherr, better known as the mutant terrorist Magneto, was dressed all in black and walked with the air of a king mingling among his subjects. There was an undeniable charisma to the man, something that seemed to draw people to him. Callisto felt at the same time intimidated and excited by his presence.

The woman to his right was blue-skinned and yellow-eyed. Mystique, the mutant shape-shifter. To his left was a young man, looking human on the outside, but small flames were dancing over his skin without burning him. Pyro, a fire starter like Rusty. Callisto was well-versed in those members of the mutant community that refused to play by the Homo Sapien rules. After all, she herself didn't like the rules much, either.

"Brothers and sisters, I would like to say a few words," Magneto said, his tone making it clear that he'd have his say whether they wanted to or not. There was some murmuring among those assembled, but no one dared tell him no. Callisto unnecessarily motioned for him to go ahead.

"I've watched this presidential campaign for some time now," he said. "I have come to greatly respect Governor Duke and his views, though I myself do not share them. He has an optimistic view of the future and I envy him that. Unfortunately experience has taught me that optimism is oftentimes wrong."

His steely gaze swept over the assembled mutants. Some shared his views, Callisto knew, some didn't, but most were scared of him.

"Governor Duke will not win this election. Lofty goals and high aspirations do not appeal like fear and hatred do. Our next president will be Graydon Creed and what that will mean for us, well... I believe Callisto has summed it up quite nicely a minute ago."

He smiled at the unofficial leader of this mutant group, who couldn't help but feel a bit proud. It wasn't every day that the most powerful and feared mutant in the world agreed with you.

"Creed utters many pretty words like 'safety', 'freedom', and how Mutant Registration is no different from gun registration. Make no mistake, though, there is a difference. Humans buy guns because they intend to use them. Mutants are born with their 'guns' and Creed will force us to register whether or not we ever intend to use our abilities in anger. He and those who think like him don't see us as individuals, only as a hostile group that needs to be put in their place."

"You made him think that," Rusty Collins suddenly spoke up, the young man looking enraged. "It is your fault that mutants are considered dangerous. You made the normals fear us."

Pyro made a move to put the young upstart in his place, but Magneto held him back before Callisto could make a move of her own.

"I applaud your courage, young man, but not your common sense. Creed and his ilk have made me the poster child of the 'mutant menace', that is true, but if not for me, they'd have found someone else. They hate and fear us because they know we will eventually replace them. They know we are better than they are. Men do not abide things that are stronger than them, as lions, tigers, and bears have learned the hard way. Make no mistake, they will annihilate us if they are given the opportunity."

"So what?" a young woman asked, her skin carrying a dim yellow glow. "It's kill them first before they can kill us? Is that your glorious plan for the future? How is us killing them any better than them killing us?"

There was a twinkle of annoyance in Magneto's eyes. Callisto saw it quite clearly.

"Skids, you should...," she began.

"Just last year one of the humans used one of us to try and kill all mutants," Magneto interrupted her. "I'm sure you all remember that day. The blinding pain that intruded into our heads and turned our thoughts to fire. That man had the full backing of your government. He was stopped, but there are many others who will try to pick up where he left off. This is not about being better or holding a higher moral standard, young woman. This is about the survival of our species."

He motioned with his hand and the TV turned back on. The news showed Graydon Creed shaking hands at some fund raiser or other, smiling all the way.

"This man will be the next president," Magneto repeated. "And however pretty the packaging, he is the same kind of man as the one who nearly killed us all. Only he will do it more slowly, using laws and regulations instead of a psychic weapon. I say he must be stopped. Those of you who think the same are welcome to join me."

With that he turned around and strode out, his two followers at his heels. Callisto looked after him, then turned to her group.

"You heard the man! Let's go!"

"Callisto, are you mad?" Rusty was beside her, holding on to her arm. "He wants to start a war. Remember, on the day he spoke of the humans experienced the same kind of pain we did but a few minutes after it stopped for us. I bet that was him. Don't you see? He plans genocide!"

"So what?" another mutant asked. Callisto recognised him as Fred Dukes, a mountain of flesh as strong as he was ugly. "You heard him. It's survival of the fittest. I'm going with him."

A growing number among the assembled mutants started heading toward the door even as Rusty turned imploring eyes on Callisto. "Cal, please! Think this over!"

"No, Rusty," Callisto said. "I wish it were otherwise, but Magneto is right. And he may just be our best chance to remain standing at the end. I won't allow a normal to put a collar on me. I won't be reduced to second-class citizen to make the normals feel safe. I won't be put in a camp. No way, no how!"

With that she kept walking, shrugging off his hand. At the end only a handful of mutants remained, all the others having gone to join Magneto.

One among them, a man by the name of James Madox, quickly took out his cell phone and dialled a number in Westchester.

"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," a voice answered on the other end.

"I need to talk to the Professor," James said. "Tell him it's urgent!"

-------------------------------------------

**End Part 4**


	5. From the Ashes

**Part 5: From the Ashes**

------------------------------

Most of the flight was spent in silence as each of the three passengers contemplated what might await them. When the Blackbird finally touched down near the shore of the lake, the broken dam visible in the distance, they disembarked quickly and scanned the shoreline.

"So what are we looking for?" Logan asked, taking a whiff of the air but picking up no human scents but their own.

"I don't know," Scott admitted. "Jean just said that she needed my help. She said it was dark."

"Could she still be underwater?"

"I'll take a look from above," Ororo said. A moment later her eyes became a glowing white as her mutant powers activated. Winds picked up and carried her away from the ground as she soared high above the lake. Within moments she was over a hundred meters in the air, able to see across the entire lake.

"See anything?" Scott's voice came over the transmitter in her uniform collar.

"Nothing so far. I'll make a few rounds."

Down below Scott walked to the edge of the lake, looking out across the vast expanse of water. What had he expected? That he'd just walk up and find Jean waiting for him? No, she had said that she needed his help. That she was in a dark place. Which had to mean underwater, right? But where? The lake was so vast.

Looking around, he tried to find the spot where Jean had been when the waters had hit her. The dam was over there, the water had rushed across the valley like so. Suppressing the emotions raging through him at the mere memory of that terrible day, he forced himself to analyse it clinically.

There, that had been the spot. More or less, at least. He remembered the jet hovering just over there after Jean had lifted it to safety. The water had hit her then and the tide would have carried her... that way.

Scott started jogging in the direction he had deducted. Logan, apparently guessing at his thoughts, made no comment and simply followed him. The two men made a brisk pace along the shore of the lake, no words exchanged between them. The forest grew denser in this direction, they wouldn't have been able to land the jet here anyway.

Making their way through the increasingly rough terrain, they finally reached a small spot of land that might have been a clearing once and now served as a miniature beach. The waters were quietly lapping across the ground. Slowing down to a mere trot, Scott re-evaluated his initial guess. Yes, the dam was right over there at the other end of the lake. This was the most likely spot a body hit by the waters would have been carried.

Looking around, he saw nothing but the water and the forest around him. No sound was in the air. No sign of Jean.

"Damn," he muttered. Where could she be?

"Do you hear that?" Logan asked, walking up beside him.

"Hear what?" he asked, distracted. "I can't hear anything."

"That's what I mean, bub."

Scott needed a moment to realize what the feral mutant meant. There were no sounds around them. No animals in the forest, no insects buzzing around, nothing. An eerie quiet had settled over the entire landscape. It felt decidedly unnatural.

"Scott? Logan? Where are you?" Ororo's voice came over the com, starting both men. They looked at each other with slight smiles on their faces.

"We're on the lake's edge, about a kilometre west from where we parked the jet," Logan told her. "Anything on your end?"

"I'm not sure. A moment ago I thought I saw something underneath the water surface, but when I looked it was gone."

"What was it?"

"I don't know, Scott. It looked like... like something big moving underwater. Some kind of... of bird-like shape. But it's gone now."

Scott looked around again, feeling the tension rising in the air. Something was moving, he could feel it. Logan seemed to sense it, too, his hackles were rising as his claws slowly unsheathed from his knuckles.

Something bumped against Scott's cheek. Starting, he looked around to find the offending object and froze in amazement as he saw a pebble. One that hovered in mid-air, spinning around like a zero-g dancer.

"Logan," he whispered.

"I see it."

The strange effect spread. Pebbles were rising from the ground around them, floating off in different directions. Leaves from the trees whipped around in random directions despite there being no wind at all. Ripples started moving across the water's surface in strange patterns.

"Scott? Logan? What's happening down there? Something screwy is going on with the winds up here."

"Can you see anything, Storm?"

"There is something in the water, about a hundred meters from where you are. The ripples are all going that way, forming some sort of... of shape. It looks like a giant bird or something."

_Scott!_

Almost stumbling, Scott looked around for the source of the voice he had just heard in his head. A voice so achingly familiar...

"Jean? Jean, where are you? I can hear you?"

"I heard nothing," Logan said, but looked around nonetheless. By now he knew that there were ways to communicate that did not depend on the spoken word.

"Jean? I'm here, Jean! Let me know where you are!"

"It's starting to glow," Ororo said, still observing from above. "I'm coming down."

"No, stay away," Logan yelled at her. "If this stuff is screwing up the winds you could fall and break your neck. Stay away and keep a lightning bolt handy, just in case!"

Ororo made a sound that conveyed her displeasure, but did as he said. Scott didn't even register their exchange, he was still looking around for any sign of the woman he loved. Out there on the water. The formerly flat surface was churning now, almost as if something huge was trying to get out from underneath.

Suddenly something grabbed his ruby-tinted glasses, wrenching them off his face. Instinct shaped by a lifetime of possessing a power he could not control made him squeeze his eyes shut. Without his glasses anything he looked at would be vaporised by his powers.

"Jean, is that you?" he yelled. "What are you doing? You know I can't control..."

_Open your eyes, Scott!_

"Tell Jeannie to cut it out, okay?" he heard Logan say. "This stopped being funny some time ago."

"Jean, my powers... if I open my eyes..."

_Look at me, Scott! Look at me and free me!_

It was the hardest thing he had ever done. It went against every training, every instinct, every fibre of his being. He opened his eyes, he destroyed something. He looked at someone, they died. His eyes were lethal weapons. He always had to wear those glasses or he would reduce the world around him to ashes.

But the woman he loved asked him to open his eyes and look at her. So he did.

Crimson blasts shot forth from his eyes and out across the lake in a terrible torrent of lethal energy. Before they could travel further than a hundred meters, though, the beams suddenly changed direction in mid-flight. They warped, curved, and hit the lake with terrifying force. Untold gallons of water vaporised in an instant.

Scott screamed as he felt the energy being ripped from his being. His powers worked by absorbing sunlight and storing it in his cells somehow. Now all that energy was being sucked down into the lake, something drinking it up with a ferocity and thirst that could drain the world.

At the edge of his awareness he heard Logan yell, heard Storm scream, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was the feeling of release as his powers reached heights they never had before, unleashing enough force to pulverize a sky scraper. And finally, after a seemingly endless amount of time, that usually never-ending well of energy inside him ran dry.

He dropped to his knees, exhausted, spent, his eyes no longer emitting their lethal rays despite the absence of his glasses. Logan was beside him in an instant and a moment later Ororo was also there, probably having set down some distance away to approach on foot.

"Scott? Scott, are you okay?"

He looked at them. Looked at other people with his own eyes and nothing between them for the first time since puberty and nothing happened. His eyes still sparked crimson, but there was no energy left inside him. Every last erg had been drunk up by... by what?

"I'm okay," he managed, struggling to his feet. "What...?"

All three X-Men turned to stare as a brilliant light rose from the depths of Alkali Lake. Crimson flames emerged from the waters in a towering inferno, unseen hands shaping them into an image of a giant bird of fire. It crackled with energy, power stolen from Scott's crimson gaze, and the lake parted like the Red Sea as the bird tore free of its watery grave.

And inside that giant image made of fire... a human shape.

"Jean?" Scott whispered.

A voice that was Jean's yet not hers answered inside his head.

_I am Fire! I am Light! Now and forever, I am Phoenix!_

**End Part 5**


	6. Double Trouble

**Part 6: Double Trouble**

--------------------------------------

The three mutants standing on the shores of Alkali Lake when the being that had once been Jean Grey emerged didn't know it, but the fact that neither of them was psychic was a distinct blessing in that moment. It probably saved their lives, in fact.

Telepaths and sensitives around the globe felt it as the being that had slumbered on the bottom of the lake for the better part of a year awoke. Its mind, so vast, so glorious, so painfully bright, expanded and encompassed the Earth for a single split-second. Millions of minds were touched as it brushed across their thoughts in an instant. Only the smallest portion of them realized it, even less knew what it was.

Some collapsed, screaming, weeping tears as something beyond their ability to comprehend passed them by and left them trembling in its wake. Others merely stumbled, either too distant or their sensitivity too weak to experience more than a passing sensation. A very few, who had the misfortune of being closest to the advent, had their sanity shattered by the rumble of a giant's footsteps.

One telepath, Charles Francis Xavier, founder and leader of the X-Men and arguably the strongest psychic on Earth, also felt the touch of the entity's awakening. It penetrated his mind like a series of hot pokers, shoved in without preamble or warning. He hissed in pain, almost toppling from his chair, but held on and quickly brought his mental shields to full power. They held, barely, allowing his sanity to survive. He also caught a glimpse of what it was that had assaulted him, right before he passed out.

A group of students found him several hours later, wondering why the Professor was late for their class. Their concerned screams alerted Kurt Wagner, the teleporting mutant known as Nightcrawler, who appeared in the Professor's study in a cloud of black brimstone.

"Professor? Professor, answer me! Are you all right?"

Two of the students left to get the school nurse, but by the time she arrived Charles was coming around again, clutching his aching head.

"Kurt? What...? Oh, I... I think I fell asleep. I was up too long yesterday grading papers. I'm so sorry to have alerted you all."

Kurt hadn't been a member of the X-Men that long, but he recognised quickly that Charles was lying for the sake of the students present. So he quickly aided him in shooing them out, their class would be rescheduled. The nurse also left, not before making the Professor promise to catch up on his sleeping.

When they were alone, Kurt turned his yellow gaze questioningly on his teacher.

"What happened, Professor?" he asked, his German accent thick with worry.

"I am not yet certain, Kurt," he answered, reaching for the communication console built into his desk. "Possibly something wonderful. Or maybe something terrible."

Not trusting his telepathy, Charles activated the com equipment and radioed the X-Men's jet. It took him but a few seconds to get Storm on the line. In fact, he could see that his people on the X-Jet had tried to reach him several times already while he'd been unconscious.

"Ororo, report! What happened?"

"Professor, I'm glad we finally reached you. We're on our way back to the mansion. ETA in about thirty minutes."

"Ororo, please tell me... is Jean with you?"

He heard the white-haired mutant hesitate for a moment before she answered. "I think so, Professor. I... I am not quite sure, but I think so."

That answer disturbed him more than anything, less because of the ominous wording, but because he could hear the undercurrent of fear in Ororo's voice. Being one of the most powerful mutants in the world, Ororo wasn't afraid of much. When she was she usually had very good reason.

"I will prep the med lab," Charles told her. "Hurry back, Ororo!"

"We will, Professor. Storm out!"

--------------------------------------

Thirty-two minutes later Charles, along with Scott, Logan, Ororo, and Kurt, was in the med lab and stared at the figure lying prone on the examination table. This was both the stuff of his dreams and his nightmares, his hopes and his fears.

Jean Grey was alive. She was right here, her steady breathing a clear sign that she had somehow survived her ordeal. She was sleeping, apparently passed out from sheer exhaustion, had been since the moment she broke free from the lake and set down beside her friends.

Even a blind person would have realised, though, that something about her had changed significantly. Her hair was longer, of course, her skin pale from lack of sunlight, and her body almost painfully thin. There was a glow about her, though, like small flames licking across her skin like a simmering fire.

Right before their eyes her body seemed to grow healthier, all signs of having spent close to ten months without food or light or warmth vanishing without a trace. No, it was more than that. The faint lines age had only just begun to carve into her face also faded, leaving her looking as young as she had ten years ago. It was as if every flaw, every imperfection, was being burned away by the purifying flames.

"Scott?" Charles asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I heard her voice in my head," the younger man told him. "Somehow her telekinetic powers reached out and took my glasses away. She then told me to open my eyes and look at her so she could be free."

Seeing Scott without his glasses on had nearly caused Charles a heart attack at first. His eyes were glowing red, but no beams came shooting forth. Scott had put his spare glasses back on, though, for he feared that this calm wouldn't last long. He could already feel his body recharging. Soon his gaze would be lethal once more.

"Somehow she absorbed the energy from my eye beams," Scott continued. "Then she came forth and... I can't really describe it. It was... you had to be there."

Ororo and Logan just nodded as Charles looked to them, neither having the words to describe the sight of Jean breaking free of the lake amidst a flaming bird image that outshone the sun itself.

"She floated under her own power and set down beside us," Scott finished his tale. "Then she collapsed and we rushed her back here."

"This is extraordinary," Charles said, carefully reaching out with his telepathic senses. "It seems Jean was able to preserve herself somehow, using her powers to protect her body from the waters. But she needed energy to break free and used your eye beams to get it."

"Jean was never this powerful," Ororo said, concerned. "Professor, what happened to her?"

His mental probe carefully brushed over Jean's mind, looking without touching, trying not to disturb the slumbering conscience.

"As a matter of fact, Ororo, Jean always had the potential to be much more powerful than she was," Charles said. "For various reasons that potential was never quite realised, though in the months leading up to Alkali Lake she grew progressively more powerful."

Logan gave him a strange look and Charles could see the mutant's nostrils flare slightly.

"You're not telling the whole story, chuck," he said, a slight growl in his voice. "What aren't you saying?"

A very uncharacteristic swear word almost escaped Charles. Logan might not be a telepath, but with his acute senses and God alone knew how many decades of experience in evaluating people, he was better at reading thoughts than many a psychic.

"Professor?" Scott asked, confusion in his voice.

Charles sighed. "It's... it's complicated, Scott. Jean... when I first met her I realised how very powerful she might become. Her abilities had manifested so early, so powerfully... it was more than her mind could handle. So I used my own powers to put psychic blocks into her psyche, sealing away the largest part of her powers from her conscious mind."

"You lobotomised her?" Logan asked, enraged. "Who gave you the right...?"

"I did no such thing, Logan," Charles said forcefully. "I helped a young girl who was on the verge of brain death because of powers she couldn't control." Calming himself, he continued. "It was always my intent that, as Jean grew older, I'd work with her to release these blocks bit by bit and let her grow slowly into her full potential. Unfortunately that process seems to have been accelerated far ahead of schedule."

Once again he brushed over her mind, his worst fears realised.

"Whatever happened to Jean, the psychic blocks are completely gone. Every last one of them has been erased. For the first time since she was eight years old Jean is now in full possession of her power. I am afraid there is no telling what this sudden surge in ability might have done to her sanity."

"She called for my help," Scott said. "She remembers me and she remembers her friends."

"Jean is strong," Ororo agreed. "Whatever is going on with her, she'll push through it. She always does, even when the odds look insurmountable."

"I hope you are correct, Storm," Charles told them all. "I really hope you are."

He rubbed his tired eyes, checking the life signs monitor they had attached to Jean's sleeping form.

"She will wake soon," Charles said. "When she does, Scott, the most important thing of all will be to keep her calm. Her power has grown exponentially. At this very moment she is probably strong enough to blow this entire building apart with a stray thought. Stay with her, keep her calm and focused. Do not do or say anything that might cause her stress or anxiety."

"Understood, professor," Scott nodded.

Loan was still looking at him suspiciously, Charles saw, but right now he was too tired to care.

"You others should go and take some rest. It's been a long day and I doubt we will find much time to relax in the coming days and weeks."

With that comment he left, feeling that he should not be anywhere near Jean when she awoke. However good his intentions, Logan's comment had hit close to home. A quarter century ago he had seen the limitless potential of Jean's mind and reacted with fear. Granted, he had resisted his very first impulse, which had been to kill Jean right then and there. But he had sealed away her powers. Because they had been a danger to her, yes, but also because they had terrified him.

Now the blocks and seals he had created were gone, wiped away as if they'd never been there, and he couldn't help but wonder how Jean would react. Would she seek his help to control her newfound might? Would she be angry with him that he had never allowed her full potential to bloom? Would she even be sane after what she had gone through? There was no telling until she awoke.

And then there was that other matter he needed to concern himself with.

"Thank you for waiting, Jamie," he told his visitor as he rolled into the reception room. "I'm afraid bad things do travel in packs more often than not."

The two identical-looking men sitting in the room looked up from the chessboard between them. A moment later one of the two vanished, his shape absorbed into the other. Jamie Madox, sometimes called Multiple Man because of his powers to create doppelgangers of himself, rose to greet his mentor.

"No problems, Professor. I always manage to keep myself entertained."

"I can imagine. So tell me, what is my old friend Erik up to now?"

**End Part 6**


	7. Welcome to the Revolution

**Part 7: Welcome to the Revolution**

**----------------------------------------------- **

Magneto seldom thought of himself as Erik Lehnsherr anymore. It was a human name, one given by a human father, celebrating the heritage of his human ancestors. He was not human, though. His name was Magneto, a mutant name that described him, not his lineage.

Looking around at the people gathered around him, he thought of them by their mutant names as well. There was Mystique, of course, his most loyal and most valuable follower. A shape-shifter by nature, she could impersonate anyone. She was the perfect spy, the perfect infiltrator, and an excellent martial artist as well. He wouldn't trade her for anything.

The young Pyro was nowhere near as experienced as Mystique, but he made up for that with sheer youthful enthusiasm. He had joined Magneto's side after the Striker affair and hadn't wavered since. Once he had only been able to strengthen and manipulate flames that were already there. Now he could start them, too.

Then there were the new arrivals. Of the many mutants who had joined him over the past few weeks, only a few were actually useful. Ages ago Magneto and his then-friend Charles Xavier had created a measuring system for mutant powers which they both still used today, even though they were on opposite sides now.

Delta-class mutants were those whose mutation was strictly cosmetic. Strange skin colours, maybe fur or scales, nothing more than skin-deep. These mutants were all but useless, only outward appearances separating them from the humans.

Gamma-class mutants had some form of physical mutation that made them stronger. Enhanced strength, toughness, better eyesight, things like these. These mutants were slightly better than humans and useful under certain circumstances.

Beta-class mutants had actual powers. Still mostly physical in nature, those were the ones who could lift tons, could run as fast as a car, or hear ants scuttle over the ground a block away. Actual powers, yes, but still just enhancements of basic human abilities.

Alpha-class mutants had something humans didn't have. The ability to manipulate the weather, to change shape, to shoot force beams from the eyes, to read thoughts, or control magnetic forces. Magneto himself was an alpha-class mutant, as was Charles, as were most of Charles' X-Men. These were the mutants most useful to the cause.

There was one additional class of mutants Magneto and Charles had created, one that only contained a single individual so far. To Magneto's knowledge there was but one Omega-class mutant in the world. Or rather, there had been. Sadly Jean Grey had died before she had ever achieved her true potential. Back in the day he had agreed with Charles to limit her powers, but today he regretted a missed opportunity.

Chasing those thoughts away, he considered his current inner circle. All of them were at least beta-class mutants. There was Callisto, once the leader of the mutant cell in New Jersey. She was a natural hunter, strong, fast, her senses enhanced, and possessing an almost superhuman tactical ability. She had quickly set herself up as the drill sergeant and field leader of what was becoming his army and she was perfect for the job.

The Blob (not the best mutant name he'd ever heard, but it fit) was a mountain of fat and muscle. His strength was incredible, but even more impressive was his immovability. Even mutants whose strength should have allowed them to lift even his gargantuan weight found it impossible to move him once he had himself set. Magneto suspected he unconsciously manipulated gravity to make himself heavier. If he could be made to harness that ability consciously he would be an even greater asset.

Avalance was a mutant who could cause vibrations in the ground, basically creating localised earthquakes. He was still learning to harness that power to its full potential, but even now he was quite adept at taking enemies off their feet.

Finally there was Caliban. At first glance he had seemed a mere delta-class mutant, his physical appearance quite inhuman and unsettling, but he had another, much more valuable ability. Caliban was a mutant blood hound. He could locate other mutants over vast distances and measure their strength. He had helped find more than half of the beta- and alpha-class mutants in Magneto's growing army. Though he was intellectually limited, Magneto had found his insights into mutant powers and abilities to be quite valuable as well.

"Two days from now the two presidential candidates will hold their debate," Mystique said. "Security is extensive, but nothing we can't handle."

"Good," Magneto said. "The debate will be televised nationwide."

"What are your plans?" Callisto asked. "Are we going to kill Creed?"

Magneto looked at her. In the few days he had known her, he had come to realise that Callisto was in some ways more animal than anything else. She was a lioness, a wolf, and she protected those she considered pack with a ferocity that was downright scary. She considered mutants her pack and Creed was the enemy.

"Killing Creed is an option, yes," he said after a moment's consideration, "but not our first one."

"Why not?" Blob asked. "The guy's gonna put us into camps. We should do him in!"

"I would like to avoid making a martyr out of him," Magneto replied. "If mutants kill an anti-mutant candidate for the presidency, more people will flock to his message. And though each and every single one of us is worth more than a hundred of the humans, they still outnumber us severely. I do not intent to unite them against us before we are ready."

"What then?" Pyro inquired. "We just gonna sit in the audience and watch as he badmouths us?"

"Quite the contrary. Our two candidates for the presidency will discuss the mutant topic extensively during their debate, I am sure. They will discuss it the way one discusses a disease, something distant, something that can't touch them."

Magneto balled his fist. "Creed fears us as an abstract concept. We will teach him to fear us in earnest. We will teach him that, even if he were to become president, he will not be untouchable. That we will be able to reach him everywhere, at every time. He will learn that, should he become president, his life is mine for the taking should he do anything to harm my people."

There was a moment of silence until the Blob interrupted it. "I don't get it."

"There are a hundred more like Creed out there, waiting to take his place, Fred," Callisto explained to him. "Magneto wants him to become president. A president shaking in his boots at the mere thought of doing anything to upset the mutants that could storm his White House whenever they feel like."

A smile bloomed on Blob's face. "We're gonna turn him into a scaredy cat!"

"Nicely put," Magneto said. "Yes, Creed will live unless there is no other alternative but to kill him. We will put the fear of... well, not god, obviously, but the next best thing... into him."

"What about Duke and his people?" Avalanche asked. "From what I've seen he isn't exactly one of your fans, Magneto."

Shaking his head, Magneto sighed. "Duke is an honourable man, I believe. His trust in human nature is a weakness, but he should not pay for that. Unless he gets into our way, we will do nothing to harm him or his people."

They talked some more about details before everything was set. Magneto left to prepare himself for what would no doubt be a strenuous day. He was one of the world's most powerful mutants, but he was also over seventy years old. He wasn't as spry as he used to be and needed his rest.

When Mystique and Pyro also left, Callisto addressed the others.

"We will follow his lead," she told them. "But should he falter... should his plan fail... should he allow Creed to live..."

Blob punched his fist into the palm of his other hand. "We'll squash both of'em."

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
